


Save a little for me

by purple_cube



Category: Hunger Games Trilogy - Suzanne Collins
Genre: F/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-12-09
Updated: 2013-12-09
Packaged: 2018-01-04 05:09:18
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,297
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/1076899
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/purple_cube/pseuds/purple_cube
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>Peeta begins the long journey home from the Capitol.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Save a little for me

**Author's Note:**

> Set during the final chapter of Mockingjay. Title taken from John Legend's Save Room.

 

 

I don’t remember much of, well, I suppose I should call it the _finale_. Flashes of memory come back to me; snapshots of Finnick, Mitchell…Katniss. But I don’t remember the event itself.

 

I remember fire. Blindingly bright and scorching hot.

 

And then I remember white. Cool and clinical. Later, I discover that this is the Burns Unit of the Capitol’s hospital. But before I know this, I wonder if it is heaven, if it is finally over.

 

After that, there is even less. Shackles, leather at first, but later metal because I fight so hard against them. Pills and injections, chemicals coursing through my body to calm it against the will of my mind. And screams, wild and uncontrolled, until there is nothing left in my throat.

 

*

 

Gale visits while I am in hospital. Just once, but it’s more than enough for me – and probably for him, I suspect.

 

I don’t have to ask whether he has been to see her; I’m only surprised that he has left her side.

 

“How is she?”

 

“Broken.”

 

I want to laugh, but the sound dies in my mouth. “Aren’t we all?”

 

“Not Katniss,” he says with a shake of the head. “Not before this.”

 

The anger starts to build inside of me, but I quickly crush it when I realize that he is right, and not just gloating about knowing her better.

 

“Prim was her whole life,” he tells me, though I know this already. “She never wanted the rest of it, the rebellion, the revolution. She only wanted Prim to be safe.”

 

 _And now she’s gone_ , I think, but don’t say aloud. _And Katniss probably has no idea what the point of her life is. Just like me._

 

His gaze is fixed on an off-colored spot on the floor. “She doesn’t want me.”

 

“So you just left her?” I ask, incredulous.

 

“She doesn’t want _me_ ,” he repeats through gritted teeth, this time returning my look. I’m about to tell him that he’s being selfish, that he still needs to be there for her, but the withering look that he delivers makes me pause.

 

“She doesn’t want me anywhere near her,” he explains. “When she looks at me, she sees Prim. She sees the bomb.”

 

I realize that he’s right to walk away, to go against his instincts.

 

We’re silent for a long time, and I almost forget that he’s still in the room until he speaks again. “I’m sorry I couldn’t save your family.”

 

I’m surprised.

 

“I didn’t expect you to,” is the honest answer.

 

“I started to go back for them, but the bombs…they fell…” His voice trails away, and I know that he is lost in the memory, like I have been so many times lately.

 

I miss them, of course I do. But I don’t tell Gale that I’m glad that their death was quick, unlike so many others I have seen or heard of. I don’t tell him that I’m glad that they didn’t die the way Johanna’s family did.

 

“Take care of her.” He is already at the exit, looking back in my direction but not quite meeting my gaze.

 

I want to tell him that just because she hasn’t picked him, doesn’t mean that she’ll pick me. But he is already gone, the door clicking shut behind him.

 

*

 

Dr. Aurelius tells me that I am well enough to be unrestrained during our sessions. But they keep the shackles attached to the bed, just in case.

 

“President Coin wants you to attend Snow’s execution. I believe that you’re well enough, and have already told her so.”

 

“No thanks,” I mutter, because I have absolutely no desire to see his face again.

 

He rises from his chair. “It’s not optional.”

 

Nothing ever is.

 

And then, of course, Katniss defies the script once again, and plunges the world – my world – into chaos. I get to her in time, covering her nightlock pill with my hand so that her teeth sink only into my skin. When she instructs me to let her go, I tell her the truth.

 

“I can’t.” I will never be able to.

 

After, I fight for her, with words and with fists, until Coin’s deputies have no choice but to lock me up.

 

Dr. Aurelius simply shakes his head in disappointment when he returns in the morning.

 

*

 

Haymitch finally comes to see me on the morning that he leaves.

 

“We’re going back to Twelve.”

 

I start to say that it’s a bad idea, that there will be too many memories for her, but he cuts me short.

 

“It was this or death, kid. Those were the _only_ choices.”

 

I nod, resigned. “I’ll be there as soon as I can.”

 

“Take your time,” he mutters, already on his way out. I don’t trust him to take care of her, but I do trust him to keep her alive, and maybe that’s all she needs for the moment.

 

When Dr. Aurelius arrives, I thank him.

 

“For what?”

 

“For saving Katniss.”

 

He shrugs in a way that makes me wonder whether he meant to save her at all.

 

*

 

Johanna visits, frequently at first, but less so once they remove the shackles from my bed for good.

 

“You don’t need me so much,” she says with a shrug when I ask why.

 

“I still _want_ to see you, even if I don’t need to,” I reply, trying – and failing – not to sound hurt.

 

She reaches across the small table to run her palm across my cheek. It’s a gesture that she would laugh off if anyone was to see it, but I like to think that at least a part of it is sincere. “Oh, cupcake. I had no idea you felt that way about me.”

 

I laugh at her teasing, and she laughs with me. Not the bitter, ironic laughter of our time together in the Capitol and in the arena, but genuine laughter that still seems so alien to me, and surely must do to her.

 

When she first started calling me ‘cupcake’ in Thirteen, it would trigger memories of our imprisonment, but she insisted on continuing to use it, working to reclaim it until the day that she could say it and I wouldn’t think of knives piercing my skin. I silently thank her for being so stubborn.

 

“Heading home –“ That word slips out of my mouth before I can yank it back, but she doesn’t flinch. “– to Seven?”

 

I used to ask her, when we were in the Cells, about home. Each time, she would give me that caustic laugh and say that there’s no such thing for her. But eventually – sometimes after minutes, sometimes after hours – she would relent and tell me about her family, her childhood. Her home.

 

“Actually,” she starts, bringing me back into the room, “I’m thinking of heading over to Two.”

 

There’s a curl to her lips – not quite a smile, but better than the coldness that so often graces her expression.

 

“Gale?” It’s a shot in the dark, but the warmth in her eyes increases ever so slightly, and I know I’m right.

 

I have to ask. “Are you with him?”

 

“Not yet,” she says with a raised eyebrow that many would describe as lewd. But I think that I know her better, and am sure that I see a little bit of hope hiding behind it.

 

I open my mouth to speak, but she raises a finger. “No. _No_ ,” she repeats, pointing aggressively. “You do not get to lecture me about love, Mister Mockingjay. I don’t care if he’s not interested, I don’t care if he still wants her. I do not care, do you hear me?” Her voice has gotten louder with every word.

 

“It’s hard not to when you’re shouting at me,” I say evenly.

 

In a split second, she is different, the anger seeping away. “Because I feel, Peeta,” she whispers, as if she doesn’t want anyone else to hear. “I _feel_ , and for once, it’s not hurt and pain. It’s something else. Something small, but definitely something else.”

 

So, when she gets up to leave, I hold her tight, as tight as I can, as if I can burst the bubbles hovering between us that carry the relentless sound of her screams. I wonder if she’s thinking the same, because she holds me just as tight.

 

When she finally pulls back, her eyes are a little softer, and her screams seem far, far away. I think that maybe this is someone more like the Johanna that grew up in Seven, the Johanna that existed before she was reaped.

 

“If nothing else, he looks like he’ll be a good fuck.”

 

I laugh and roll my eyes. “I guess he does,” I respond, because it’s the only thing I can think of to say.

 

She snickers and teases me about having a crush on Gale. I let her, because I couldn’t stop them coming for her in the Cells, because I can’t stop the demons coming for her at night. I let her, because during my journey from one hell into another, from the Quarter Quell to Snow’s prison to District Thirteen, she was my one constant.

 

*

 

“What will you do when you leave?”

 

I consider lying. Dr. Aurelius has brought President Paylor with him, and I wonder which answer will get me out of here quicker.

 

“I’ll go back to Twelve.”

 

“What do you think you’ll find there?” Paylor’s voice is harder than I expect, but I guess she won the election for a reason.

 

“Death and destruction, most likely.”

 

A smile plays at her lips. “Sounds like fun.”

 

“My family is dead,” I tell her candidly. “Katniss and Haymitch are the closest I have to family now. And they’re in Twelve. So that’s where I’ll go.”

 

“And the fact that you were trained to kill Katniss doesn’t mean anything anymore?”

 

I look across at Aurelius for a moment, and then back to Paylor before replying. “Dr. Aurelius will tell you that I haven’t had an episode in over a month, and that when I last had one, I was able to pull myself back within minutes.”

 

“You could kill her within those minutes.”

 

I consider her words carefully, before giving her a wry smile. “Katniss survived two Hunger Games and a war where everybody was trying to kill her. I’m pretty sure she’ll be okay.”

 

Paylor turns her attention to the Doctor, and they exchange a wordless conversation. She leaves without addressing me again.

 

I wonder if I have won.

 

Another month in the hospital tells me that I haven’t.

 

*

 

The idea comes to me on the train. I know that there was no garden to speak of around her house, at least, not before the bombing. I doubt that there is one now.

 

So I head to the Meadow when I arrive. I find them quickly, using only my hands at first to dig, before reaching for a nearby branch to use as a lever. When I get _there_ – I can’t call it home yet – I drop my bag on my family’s doorstep before carrying the primrose bush to her house.

 

She is angry when she sees me, and I struggle to get the words out quickly, to make her understand. I realize that she does understand, does appreciate it, mere moments before she flees.

 

I sleep in the second reception room of my former home, because even though we weren’t a happy family, we were a family, and I can still see them in all of the other rooms. 

 

*

 

Her screams wake me, but it takes a few minutes before I can determine whether they are real. Once I decide, I run as fast as I can. She is sitting up in her bed, drenched in sweat, and I climb in wordlessly. She reaches for me, like she did on the train. I know this to be real now.

 

After the first night, I leave, only to return a few hours later. So I end up staying, in her house, in her bed. And slowly, everything returns to me. The tilt of her voice in class. Her fists clutching poached squirrels, handing them over to my father. Her body, strong but still, against mine.

 

And I can feel something else returning to me, even before she does. But I don’t rush it, don’t rush her, and am rewarded with the sweetest of kisses when she does finally become aware.

 

After that, it is an avalanche, because I have waited almost my entire life for her. She doesn’t ask me to stop, to go slower, when my hands wander. In fact, she asks for more, for deeper, for me. When she climaxes at my fingertips, I commit her expression to my memory out of habit, in case I never see it again. In case she doesn’t choose me.

 

But then she opens her eyes, and I know that it won’t happen. I know that she has already chosen.

 

I know the answer to the question, but I have to ask anyway.

 

“You love me. Real or not real?”

 

“Real.”

 

I think that this is enough for me, and I close my eyes once more. But then I feel her shift closer and whisper against my shoulder.

 

“I love you.”

 

I open my eyes to find her smiling up at me.

 

So I smile too. Because, once, I was the boy with bread. And then, I was the star-crossed lover of the Mockingjay. After that, I was the hijacked ex-lover that tried to kill her.

 

I know that I am none of these things now.

 

I smile because I know who I am.

 

I am Peeta Mellark, and I live because of her, just as she does because of me.

 

 


End file.
